


Safety Net

by Nejinee



Series: These Streets 'verse [10]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Christmas, Established Relationship, Found Family, Holidays, M/M, Mentions of Death, Sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:08:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21907975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nejinee/pseuds/Nejinee
Summary: Sometimes the holiday season doesn't bring joy and cheer to everyone. Steve begins to learn why it is that way for Bucky.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: These Streets 'verse [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/781374
Comments: 96
Kudos: 634





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank Daphneblithe for being beta on this holiday update. :)

It had snowed overnight.

Steve didn’t mind it so much because he’d invested in a really good parka and had an excellent sheepskin hat to cover his head and ears. Bucky, walking beside him across the superstore parking lot, did not like the snow one bit. He was already griping about anti-freeze and snow ploughs and how much he hated bundling up for the shitty weather.

“I keep sayin’, Buck,” Steve sighed as the electric-sensor doors opened wide for them, “you need a proper coat. Those hoodies and thin jackets ain’t gonna cut it in this weather. Look, over there, they’ve got parkas.” He pointed to the clothing section to the left of the door. Moms and kids were milling about the racks.

Bucky ignored him and stomped on into the store, a man on a mission.

They were there to fill up on essentials for the holidays.

Steve was pretty prepared already, having bought the turkey and frozen veg the week before. He’d even stocked up on cranberry sauce and snack foods because he knew Bucky would get gripey in between meals, especially if the two of them planned to be cooped up in his house for the holiday. Steve was very excited to share a Christmas with Bucky in Bucky’s home.

For the first time ever, they weren’t having a big dinner at Natasha’s place because the kids (America, Kate, Teddy and Billy) were out-of-state, choosing to stay at their universities over the break. So Natasha had suggested a pause on the usual holiday fanfare, at least until New Year, when everyone was welcome to convene at her house and wreck the place, per usual.

Steve kinda liked the idea of spending a whole holiday with Bucky. It meant more warm snuggles and late morning wake-ups and good food. Not that he’d tell Bucky that to his face. He didn’t want to get his face clawed off for being all _gooey._ Steve had also banked up vacation time at work. Being a captain really took a bite out of his free time. They didn’t tell you that in the patrol guide.

So here they were, in one of Bucky’s least favourite public venues, trying to pick up some last-minute shit before everything shut down for Christmas.

Steve followed Bucky around as the other man threw cans of soup and ramen and jars of beans into the cart.

Steve frowned at the alarming quantities. “You sure we need that much?” he dared to ask before Bucky glared sidelong at him. “Okay.” Steve backed off.

When they wound their way down the feminine care aisle, Steve frowned. Bucky threw six packs of sanitary napkins and seven boxes of tampons into the cart. The brightly coloured boxes certainly stood out.

_Hm._

“So–” Steve started.

“It’s for the donation bin,” Bucky grumped loudly, now leaning his elbows in the cart handlebar. “Maria says tampons are needed most of all. So that’s what we’re donating.”

“Ah,” Steve’s eyes lit up. Of _course!_ The FDNY fundraiser was coming up. “Good idea.”

Now understanding why they were really here, Steve went along with Bucky’s bizarre shopping spree, watching as Bucky threw tons of diapers and rash creams and random pairs of discount socks into the cart.

“You should have said we needed more,” Steve murmured. “I could have picked some up earlier in the week and then–”

“Doesn’t matter,” Bucky grunted. “We’re here now.”

Steve closed his mouth.

Bucky had been in a mood all morning. Steve was much better at reading him these days. There were signs to look for. First off, Bucky had woken before Steve, but he hadn’t brewed coffee and left it waiting. When Steve did make his way downstairs Bucky was down in the basement again ‘tidying up’ which Steve preferred to think of as ‘Bucky pushing boxes and tools around’. Bucky had been on this kick, reorganizing his entire workshop. He’d put up a massive pegboard on the one wall and was painstakingly creating outlines on the pegboard for each of his many and varied tools and gadgets. It kept him busy in the basement on most weeknights while Steve was on duty. This morning, however, Bucky had been quiet, moving around the basement with no real purpose, it seemed. Steve had let him be. There was something about this season that got to Bucky. He’d barely said a word to Steve at all before declaring this very random grocery run.

Steve didn’t know what was eating at Bucky, but he was game to go along regardless.

Eventually, after scouring every aisle and picking up whatever item was written on Bucky’s mental shopping list, they reached the long line for the cash.

Bucky scowled.

He wasn’t a fan of waiting in superstores. Steve wasn’t either, hell _who_ _was?_

The guy in front of Bucky turned at one point. He was sporting an unflattering handlebar moustache and a leather vest over some camouflage-patterned shirt.

The guy looked over the contents of their cart. Bucky ignored him.

Steve caught the guy staring at the pads and tampons before the man sneered and shook his head, turning back to face the line-up.

Steve’s eyes narrowed.

The line moved quickly and before long, Bucky was tapping his card against the machine. It bleeped and the cashier smiled before handing over the receipt.

“Happy holidays,” she said brightly.

Bucky nodded and Steve smiled at her.

Bucky pushed their very full shopping cart back out into the cold. The wind was icy and pinched at Steve’s cheeks.

“Jesus, fuck, it’s cold.”

And Bucky wasn’t even wearing a hat!

“You shoulda bought a jacket,” Steve huffed, walking alongside the cart. It rattled and shook over the asphalt.

“Nevermind, Steve,” Bucky said, voice rough. 

Steve frowned. Bucky’s temper obviously wasn’t getting any better. Steve didn’t like to see him like this, suffering through the discomfort of winter for no good reason other than stupid pride. They reached the dusty blue pick-up truck and Steve helped to unload the shopping as quickly as he could. His fingers were numb after the tenth bag. He got up onto the truck’s back tire and rearranged the many bags. He yanked on the green tarp Bucky used to hold his many woodworking loads down. While Steve tied up the ends of the tarp, wincing in the bitter, icy wind, Bucky went to park the cart. By the time he made it back, his cheeks were red and his hair was a blustery mess atop his head.

Steve thought of the thick wool hat he’d wrapped up for Bucky. It was sitting under the small Christmas tree in his own house, waiting for the 25th. Bucky didn’t decorate for Christmas, so Steve made sure his own place was lit up like a holiday nightmare inside. Steve wished he had the hat right now and that he could pull it down over Bucky’s cold head and cover his ears with warmth.

“Hey, you!”

Steve turned at the voice barking nearby. He frowned and hopped back down to the ground. It was the camo guy from the store. He was leaning out the driver-side window of his own bright red oversized truck, the vehicle idling in the parking lot driveway.

Bucky turned to glare at the guy. “What?” he barked right back.

“You’re that girl’s fuckin’ keeper, ain’tcha?” the moustachioed man yelled.

“Excuse me?” Steve frowned, hackles rising.

“Not _you,_ piss-ant,” the guy said with a flick of his hand. “Barnes, right? I heard about you.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky appeared at Steve’s side, all but bristling. 

Steve’s internal alarms started blaring and his inner policeman was on high alert. 

“Yeah, I heard you been hiding that girl away. The Chavez one. She kicked my boy’s teeth in? You know about that?”

Bucky’s brow furrowed darkly at the mention of America. “Your boy the one who was clotheslining little kids in school?”

Steve frowned at the interaction. _What in the hell?_ He hadn’t heard of any of this.

“Yeah, what of it?” the other man barked. He revved his engine. “You know he had to get surgery? Broke his fuckin’ _jaw_ , she did. What kinda animal is she, huh? Where she been hidin’? We been looking, asking around. Nobody seems to know. _Why is that–_ ”

Steve _felt_ Bucky stiffen beside him but didn’t react fast enough. He swore when Bucky launched himself across the tarmac, stormed up to the guy’s window and clambered onto the door’s step-up to _yank_ at the guy’s jacket collar.

The man squawked loudly, shocked by how fast Bucky moved.

“The _fuck_ do you mean,” Bucky hissed right into the guy’s face before jumping back to the ground and tugging the bastard through his open window like a ragdoll. The red truck jerked.

“Bucky!” Steve yelled and sprinted up to them. He yanked Bucky’s hand off the guy. “Jesus, he’s got no foot on the brake!”

The man yelled like a stuck pig, half hanging out his truck, half flailing like a deranged flamingo.

“He fuckin’ just _said_ ,” Bucky barked, “he’s threatening America. You hear that? _Looking for her?_ The _fuck_ does that mean?” Bucky tried to grab at the guy again, intent on causing harm, but Steve shoved him out of the way.

“Move, Steve,” Bucky snarled.

“You want me to fuckin’ arrest you for aggravated assault?” Steve snarled right back. 

Bucky’s eyes flashed. “You heard what this bastard said.”

“Yeah, but you getting thrown into the fuckin’ tank ain’t gonna make it better, Buck,” Steve said, voice hard. “Words are words. Fists change things.”

Bucky’s face was dark with anger.

“He tried to fuckin’ _kill me!”_ the guy in the truck screamed and honked on his horn like an idiot. People were staring.

“Sir,” Steve turned to him. “I’m a police officer–”

“You saw him! He fuckin’ went for my _throat!_ Arrest his ass! What are you waiting for?” The guy kept wailing but he did, at least, seem to have control of his vehicle, so small blessings for not running people over and making things worse.

“I also saw you yell inflammatory words at him, inciting his anger, sir,” Steve cut in.

“He’s crazy!” the man said, lower this time. His eyes flicked between Steve and Bucky. “I always heard those Barneses were nuts! Arrest him!”

Steve turned to glare at Bucky, but Bucky was already gone, having stormed back to his truck.

Steve sighed and rubbed at his brow. Fuck, people were paying attention. He had to do something. The blue pickup truck belonging to Bucky roared to life, and then reversed out of its spot to much squealing of brakes. 

“Bucky!” Steve barked, incensed. He had to press himself against the asshole’s truck to make room for Bucky’s. Bucky ignored him and blasted right past them, leaving black tire marks on the parking lot asphalt.

“What the hell is wrong with that guy?” the douchebag in the red truck muttered.

Steve turned to glare at him, then pulled out his cellphone. “Hey, yeah, Karen. I got a situation. No, nothing big.” The douche glared at Steve and opened his mouth. Steve held up a finger and the guy hesitated. “Can you send Danny? Is he in?… thanks…”

Well, there went the rest of Steve’s morning.

* * *

Natasha met him by the old library building that was still under construction. The front lawn stretched out from the parking lot where she was waiting, leaning up against Clint’s hideous orange GMC truck. 

She had answered him the second he’d called, like she already knew what was up. Maybe she had psychic powers. Steve wouldn’t have been surprised, seeing as how Natasha was so observant all the time. It must be exhausting, but she never seemed fazed by any of the bullshit people in the neighbourhood threw at her. That was Natasha, the fixer.

“Thanks for coming,” Steve murmured, leaning against the truck beside her. The metal was cold against his back. He rubbed his hands together. The ice hadn’t melted much, so a few puddles had refrozen around them. A mother and her kids were further down the slope taking advantage of the quietly, rarely-used playground left over.

Natasha was dressed warmly, her puffy coat making her look like a fluffed up marshmallow. Steve didn’t ask what she’d been up to when he’d called. Natasha always made time. She always answered when it was about Bucky.

“What happened?” she asked, looking up at him through her red bangs. “What he do now?” An outsider would think she was referring to some wayward, troubled kid and not the man who lived a few houses down from her. She must know everything around here. Steve had been tempted on many occasions to ask her what she knew regarding any of his local cases, but that urge quickly died when he remembered the way she could retract and pull all her sources away from any kind of law enforcement. She learnt that young, back when they were kids, back when Natasha was the sharpest kid on block and running more than her fair share of the side jobs kids used to get wrapped up in for the sake of money and safety.

But Natasha was more than her acidic personality, more than her connections to whatever gangs worked these streets. She was a caretaker, a mother, an enforcer of a different kind. If people looked at Clint and Bucky as dumb muscle, their eyes would skip over Natasha, the only real danger in this tightly knit neighbourhood. Steve knew, from experience, that what this tiny woman knew could bring down the government itself if she wanted to.

Steve sighed and told her what happened in the superstore parking lot. He didn’t leave out any details apart from the short write-up he had Danny do for the douche in the truck. At least Steve had the guy’s name now. Natasha wouldn’t need it. For his sake.

“So he hasn’t come home?” she asked.

Steve shook his head. “He won’t answer his phone either.” Bucky was ignoring all his calls which, frankly, was too childish.

Natasha, as always, was there to help. She listened intently as Steve recounted the way Bucky had threatened the guy in the store, how completely bizarre it had seemed, how out of character it really was. Sure, Bucky was a shit-disturber, but he was smart and he knew when to pick fights. This situation was not that.

Natasha was quiet. Steve petered off, having no idea what to say, how to make sense of whatever had occurred. Bucky had always had a temper of sorts, but he had control over it. He didn’t actively try to beat the shit out of people unless they _really_ deserved it. Sure, the guy in the red truck wasn’t an angel but if it hadn’t been Steve on the scene, and it had been some other cop, Bucky might have been in for much worse, especially if he’d followed through on whatever beatdown he had wanted to inflict on the guy. 

But angry as Bucky could get, it wasn’t a hair-trigger reflex. He wasn’t one to fly off the handle like that.

“So that guy…” Natasha asked, “He was threatening America?”

Steve inhaled slowly. “Well, _he_ says no. Says he was just making a point. We got the whole story from him. You know anything about some kid who got his jaw broken by America?”

Natasha thought for a moment. 

“Sounds vaguely familiar. But that would have been years ago. When she was in high school. Her…” Natasha tapped a mitted hand against her lips, “sophomore year?”

“Well,” Steve sighed, “Looks like the guy’s dad has a long memory. He says the medical bills for his son’s jaw surgery cost him his job. No health insurance, etcetera. America must have really done a number on the guy.”

“Hmmm,” Natasha hummed. “Maybe it wasn’t her.”

Steve peered at her, “I swear, if you guys are covering up some underground gang activity or something…”

She rolled her eyes, “Steve, _please_.”

“I’m serious,” Steve said. “I didn’t find any police documentation about the jaw-breaking incident. The guy, the dad, he shut up real fast when I prodded him for more. What really happened?”

Natasha shrugged, “He might have his memory confused. America’s had her moments, I’ll say that. But maybe she’s just an easy target for angry shitheads?”

Steve stared at her. “Nat,” he said. “Bucky was going to seriously hurt the guy, but I swear, it was like they’d never met before. Why would Bucky do that?”

Natasha exhaled through her nose. “You know he’s not good when people take pot shots at the neighbourhood kids.”

“Yeah, but this sounded completely random.”

“Steve,” Natasha’s breath clouded around her, “You threaten any of those kids, even in joking, and Bucky’s not gonna stand for it.”

“But I’ve seen people say worse and he’d shrug it off. This guy was _nothing._ And now Bucky’s disappeared and I don’t know if I need to be worried. _”_

“What’s the date?” she asked.

Steve frowned. “The twenty-third. Why?”

Natasha rubbed her hand over her mouth. A slight crease formed between her eyebrows. She was clearly thinking. She folded her arms across her chest.

“Did you ever wonder why he is the way he is?” Natasha said with a critical arch of one perfect eyebrow. “Why he’s so determined to protect everyone, why he’s always acting on impulse?”

Steve frowned, “I didn’t think there was a particular reason?”

Natasha sighed and looked out across the snow-dusted grass. Her breath puffed out in small perfect clouds, and her wool hat sat low on her brow. It was _really_ cold.

“When his mom died–” She cleared her throat and shifted on her feet. “She died while he was deployed. Did you know that?”

Steve went still.

Bucky _never_ spoke about this. There were two topics Steve was never allowed to ask about. One was his mother.

“I didn’t know that,” he said softly. He stared down at his boots.

“Yeah, well, he found out while on duty, and he and Becca both managed to make it home for her funeral.”

“Jeez,” Steve said.

“Because, of course,” Natasha sighed loudly, frustrated. “ _Of course_ , Becca followed in her big brother’s footsteps and joined the army. And just like her brother, turned out she was a perfect damn soldier, one of the best, I heard.” Natasha looked up at Steve critically. “You know the Barnes family’s always been an army kind of family? A gun-toting, self-sacrificing bunch?”

Steve blinked at her and shook his head. What he knew of Bucky from school was limited to how smart Bucky seemed and how handsome he was, how popular he was. Steve hadn’t known much about the Barneses as a whole.

“Yep,” Natasha continued. She paused and looked up at the sky, then across the grass, toward the kids playing on the old rickety climbing frame. That thing had been around when _Steve_ was little; it was a damn miracle to see it still standing. “Bucky’s dad was army. I think even his Grandpa. Either way, you know how it goes with kids from around here.”

Steve nodded. He did know. No-prospect families didn’t hesitate to push their boys into the army, the navy, get their daughters married off. It was a solid pay cheque, good benefits and it sometimes straightened the troubled kids out. Not all. But some.

Bucky had hinted at the way the army both helped and fucked him up real good. Steve never pressed him for more, knowing Bucky hated talking about it. He’d get this tightness in his neck and his jaw would work, like he was grinding rocks between his teeth. Like he was chewing on memories he couldn’t swallow.

Natasha scuffed her own winter boot against the gravel underfoot. 

“The homecoming was hell for both of ‘em. Whole damn neighbourhood showed up for the internment. Bucky was fucked up that they’d missed the three-day window, that she was buried in a Catholic plot, like his dad. He hated that. He really, really did.”

Steve sucked on his lower lip, brow furrowing. _Shit_. Winifred Barnes was Jewish. He’d completely forgotten that, seeing as Bucky didn’t adhere to any religion himself. 

“I thought I’d seen him at his worst back then,” Natasha said. “He was still struggling. Coming home didn’t help. He liked being away from here. He’d always wanted out of Brooklyn.”

Steve blinked, “Really?” He couldn’t imagine Bucky feeling that way, not the Bucky he knew.

“Yeah,” Natasha said. “The trial and juvie made him feel bad, I think. He didn’t _want_ to join the army. But hell, who ever does, really? He just needed to get away, I think. He used to–”

Natasha paused.

“–he used to say, back then, when he got out of juvie, that he was an embarrassment to his family. He felt so bad about everything for so long, I think he really thought he deserved the punishment he got.”

“Jesus,” Steve rubbed a gloved hand over his mouth.

Natasha was silent. Steve looked at her, small and bundled up beside him. She was almost glaring into the sun, like she was angry. But there was something else there. She didn’t look at him. Bucky did that sometimes when he was having a difficult conversation. The two were so alike sometimes, it’s no wonder they remained so close after all these years.

“After the internment, Becca and him, they just went back out to the Middle East. Bucky was in special ops by that point, getting sent out to God-knows-where to do God-knows-what.”

Steve watched Natasha carefully. She was squinting, like the light hurt her eyes.

“It was weeks–” she stopped and sniffed. Her mouth pursed, tensed up. “It happened while he was on some secret mission, which was why the brass never told him in time.”

Steve’s breath was caught in his chest.

“If he’d been on-base when the news came in…” Natasha shook her head. “When Becca died–” Natasha covered her mouth with her mittened hand. Steve put his arm around her. His throat tightened and he felt the sadness radiating off her.

The second topic Steve was never allowed to talk about was Becca Barnes. The sister Bucky had lost.

Natasha inhaled through the woolen mitt. “He didn’t find out ’til weeks after she’d been killed in action. God, it’s still fucking terrible, Steve.”

Steve pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her.

“Little Becca Barnes, the firecracker of that family,” Natasha said, cheek pressed to Steve’s chest. “Gone, just like that.”

Steve sniffed, tears prickling at his own eyes. “I remember,” he said. “She was such a smart-ass.” He could recall a young girl, with the trademark Barnes hair and eyes, yelling profanities at some big kids in their elementary school. She was one of those girls, the kind that didn’t take shit from anyone. She was, Steve thought now, very much like Natasha.

Natasha laughed, her voice a wet throaty thing. “Yeah. She was a good kid. Idolized her brother. Thought the world of him.”

Steve squeezed Natasha tight.

“It was so long ago now,” Natasha murmured, “But it feels like yesterday.”

Steve held her and listened, soaking up the words that Bucky had never been able to share with him. Steve had learned early on in their relationship that the whole topic was off-limits. He understood why. 

He recalls one of the first times it had been a problem for them.

He’d been tidying up Bucky’s living room, pulling out the DVR and DVD player so he could clean and dust the TV console shelves. Behind one of the machines he’d found a cardboard box, the kind you get at niche scrapbooking-style stores. It was wrapped in flowery wrapping paper and had a magnet to keep the lid shut.

Inside Steve had found a stack of photographs. Ones from way back. There were pictures of a young Bucky, smiling goofily at the camera. There were pictures of his ma and of course, Becca, his miniature doppelganger.

It had been some kind of revelation, finding them.

Bucky had lost his _shit_ when he came home to find Steve sitting in a semi-circle of photos on the floor.

He’d been so mad at Steve, so blindly enraged that Steve had expected punches to be thrown. Instead, Bucky had barked at him to get his nose out of shit he shouldn’t be digging through, and had gotten to his knees and picked up all the photos and jammed them back in the box, to be hidden away somewhere else. Steve knew the box now sat at the bottom of Bucky’s tool-crate in the basement, safe from prying eyes.

That day Steve had learned that whatever had happened to Bucky’s family was too much to bear, too much to talk about. 

“Is that when he gave up the army?” Steve asked gently.

Natasha laughed and pulled away. She wiped at her hair poking out from under her hat. “You know that’s not how it works.”

Steve smiled softly.

“But yeah, basically,” she sighed. “He threw himself to the dogs trying to get out. Figured if he got thrown out it’d be better than fulfilling the rest of his allotted time. He only had about a year left anyway. He’d actually been planning to go career. Can you imagine that?” She shook her head, clearly still annoyed by that. “Dumbass fool. He was sending his money to his mother, was barely spending any of it himself. He figured _‘hey, nest egg! Why not work army forever then settle down on my pile of money._ ’”

That sounded like Bucky.

“But they realized, I think,” she said, “that he wasn’t going to cooperate anymore. Their perfect little sniper soldier wasn’t playing by their their rules anymore. He wanted out, however he could get it.”

“That’s not good,” Steve murmured.

Natasha shrugged, “I finally bullied it out of him, stubborn asshole that he is, that he was Med boarded out, so it didn’t tarnish his time. I thought that would have bothered him, but I think Bucky didn’t care anymore. He had no pride left for his time served.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Steve said, nodding. Bucky had no kind words for what he went through. Steve couldn’t ever imagine a Bucky that would have anything positive to say about active duty.

“So that’s what you’re dealing with here,” Natasha said with a huff. She stood up properly and turned to Steve. “This time of year is the worst.” She stared at Steve. “His Mom died on January 2nd. Becca died on December 23rd. Two years apart. He was twenty-seven and all alone.”

Steve’s heart broke. “I wish he’d talk to me about it,” he said gently. “Just so I know where he’s at. So I can help a little. I don’t want to make it worse for him.”

“I know,” Natasha said. “But don’t bank on that anytime soon. It gets better every year. He’s much better now than he was then.” She patted his arm through the many layers between them.

“You think so?”

“Steve,” Natasha sighed, “When that man got back from active duty, he was usually a complete and utter shitfest. He was drinking too much and getting into fights like he was sixteen again. Every. Time. But after Becca… it was different. He was done. He was shut down. He just wanted to sort out the legal details, get his mom’s house under his name and preserve what he had left to remember them by.”

“That’s why he restored the house?” Steve said.

“Probably,” Natasha shrugged. “I don’t know. To keep himself busy.”

“And that’s why he’s so protective,” Steve looked at her with wide eyes.

She frowned. “He blames himself for not being around for either of them,” she said, pain obvious in her gaze.

Steve swallowed and looked down at his gloves. He could see that. Bucky would be the type to think that because he chose the army over his family that he deserved all of this.

“Jesus, why?” Steve exhaled shakily.

When _his_ ma died, Steve had been mostly prepared for it. Sure, he’d been young and a burgeoning adult who felt like his world was tearing at the seams, but he’d known it was coming. 

Bucky had no chance.

“Because he’s broken and he’s lonely and he’s too soft,” Natasha said.

Steve looked up at her and knew she was right. The toughest kid, the toughest guy on the block had always been Bucky Barnes. But she was telling the truth: he was hiding the softest part of himself, barricading it away from the world so he’d never expose it, never get hurt again. Not by the police who arrested him as a kid, not by the institution he’d bled blood for, and not for the people who didn’t deserve his time or energy.

“So,” Natasha was staring out over the grass again, like a queen surveying her kingdom. “Like I’ve said before: you gotta stick with him. He’s better now with you.”

“You sure about that?” Steve asked. 

She turned her bright green eyes to him.

“Yeah, Steve, I am.”

* * *

After an hour of mixed text messages flying between Steve, Nat, Clint, America and Kate, he got his answer. Steve found Bucky exactly where America’s text said he’d be. The bench looking out over the water was protected from the wind by a stand of tall twiggy trees.

Insane joggers wrapped up to their eyeballs jogged past as Steve approached. He sat down beside Bucky.

“Hey,” he murmured.

The sun was setting on the water, casting a warm pink and orange glow over the area.

Bucky looked over at him. He looked drained and pale, tired and just done with it all. Steve was still happy to have found him.

“You been here all day?” Steve asked.

Bucky shrugged.

They were silent for a while as Steve thought about what to say, how to comfort the person he cared about most.

“I’m sorry I fucked off like that,” Bucky said, voice rough. He was holding an empty Starbucks cup between his fingers. His knuckles were red, dry and cracking from the cold.

“It’s fine,” Steve said. “I didn’t–” he hesitated. “I forgot what day it was.”

Bucky inhaled slowly. He stared down at the ground.

Steve didn’t want to waste words on ‘sorry’ and ‘I’m here for you’. He just wanted Bucky to be okay. “Here,” Steve said, pulling a wrinkled wrapped gift out of his pocket.

Bucky blinked slowly at it. “It’s not Christmas yet,” he murmured.

“Trust me, you need these,” Steve said, sliding closer on the bench until their thighs touched. Bucky’s jeans felt like ice through Steve’s own. How long had he been out here catching his death?

Bucky put the coffee cup down on the ground and took the squishy present from Steve. A few edges were worn thin after travelling from under Steve’s tree to the bench. Thank God America had the info on where Bucky went when he was going through _feelings-things_ (as she called it).

Bucky tore at the tape, revealing something thick and knitted inside.

“A hat and mittens,” Steve said, watching Bucky pull out the black and white items. “I made them myself. Because you never want to wear these types of things, but you really need to.”

Bucky held the chunky knit hat and mittens in his palms. He carefully flipped them over.

“You made these?” he said slowly.

“Yeah, Karen helped me learn. I got a whole knit box at my desk at the station. Sam joined in, trying to learn how to knit as well. He’s terrible at it.”

“Wilson’s terrible at everything,” Bucky murmured with no real energy. He pulled the mittens on one by one and Steve was happy to see that they fit well enough. Sure, the pattern was a bit wonky and he’d run out of the white wool 3/4 of the way down before swapping it for a cream substitute, but that gave the gloves some personality.

That’s what his ma would have said.

Bucky pulled the hat on over his head. It wasn’t too tight, and sagged a little round the back. Steve leaned in close and tugged the edge lower over Bucky’s forehead and ears.

Bucky looked at him then, all ice-grey eyes and sad features. God, he was so beautiful it made Steve’s heart ache and clench in his chest. Steve knew he would do anything for this man. He’d tear the world apart if it meant Bucky was safe and sound. 

“Thanks,” Bucky murmured.

“You’re welcome,” Steve said. “You wanna come home now? It’s fucking cold and you probably have pneumonia.”

Bucky huffed, “Doesn’t matter.”

Steve slid his gloved hand into Bucky’s and settled in beside him. “Okay, we can watch the sun go down. Compromise.”

Bucky didn’t say anything, but he also didn’t let go of Steve’s hand.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve’s bed was warm and piled high with blankets. Coming back here had made sense in the moment. They could stay the night and make their way back to Bucky’s in the morning. That was the new plan, anyway.  Bucky shuffled closer under the blanket and pressed himself to Steve’s side. “You didn’t sign up for this,” he muttered in the dark.

Steve gently carded his fingers through Bucky’s freshly washed hair. “I most definitely did.”

Bucky grunted softly, “No you didn’t. You wanted to be with… with a guy who had his shit together, probably. Maybe. Someone who doesn't go apeshit on everything. Some without a mile long rap sheet.”

Steve smiled into the top of Bucky’s head. “I want to be with you, Buck,” Steve said. “I want you. That’s all.”

Bucky was dozing already, soothed by Steve's hand and voice.

Steve held him close and watched over him for the rest of the night.

* * *

The next morning Bucky drove them down to the fire station where the holiday collection drive was set up.  Maria was manning a massive table piled high with plastic tubs labeled with ‘canned food’, ‘dry food’, ‘medical’ and all sorts of other categories.

“Hi Bucky!” Patsy Walker piped up. She’d grown a lot over the year and was up to Steve’s shoulder, which was nuts. Whatever was in the water was mutating the neighbourhood kids, or something. They were growing up too fast. “You wanna sign your name on this thank-you ornament and we can add it to the donation tree?”  She held out a printed picture of an ornament with a space on it for a name. Behind her on a flimsy easel stood a printed Christmas tree with tons of similar baubles stuck to it with tape. A scribbled name or two on each.

Bucky heaved three bags of groceries onto the table.  “Nah, thanks, Patsy,” he said lowly and began unpacking the goods. Steve followed suit with his own bags.

“You sure?” Patsy wheedled. “It’ll show everyone how much you donated this year.” She waved the paper bauble like a tempting treat.  Bucky shook his head and Steve smiled.  Bucky didn’t want any kind of recognition for stuff like this. Like he always said, it wasn’t the point.

They unpacked the goods into their appropriate buckets. Maria was impressed by the haul.

“Nicely done, Rogers,” she smirked at Steve, watching tampon packages tumble into a bin.

“Oh, this is all him,” Steve jabbed a thumb in Bucky’s direction.

“Uh-huh,” Maria smiled knowingly.

“Captain Steve Rogers!” a booming voice bellowed out from somewhere deeper in the station’s wide, open garage. Steve jumped and turned as red-covered hams squished him into a hug.

“Oh God,” Steve winced into white fluffy material. He could barely breathe.

“Thor, please,” Maria said. “Put him down.”

Thor Odinson dropped Steve back onto his feet and stood back. He was wearing most of a Santa costume, minus the flowing beard, his hat flopping around on his head.

“Your donations are most welcome here!” he grinned and thumped Steve on the shoulder with a meaty palm.

“Ah,” Steve coughed. “Good?”

“Barnes!” Thor bellowed again and shook Bucky’s hand.

“I thought you were joking about the outfit,” Bucky snorted.

“I never joke!” Thor laughed.

Steve stepped back from Thor’s overwhelming presence. Someone stood nearby, watching them with an arched brow.  “Loki,” Steve nodded carefully. He’d had more than a few run-ins with the insurance inspector of ill-repute.

“You,” Loki said with a cool look. His eyes traveled over Steve in a way that was more investigative than creepy. Loki’s eyes flicked over to Bucky. “Barnes,” he said with a touch more disdain.

Bucky nodded and Steve couldn’t help smiling at the scowl burgeoning across his face.  Bucky was not a fan of Loki. Steve wasn’t sold on the guy, but that was because he was very good at getting in the way of investigations by flapping documents and court orders in Steve’s face.

Bucky disliked Loki for some other unfathomable reason Steve had yet to figure out.  Bucky had to work with Loki more, so perhaps he saw a different side of the other Odinson.

Steve side stepped Loki and went back to sorting new goods that had arrived.  “Here, let me help,” he said, leaping to assist a mom and her small kids with arms overloaded with heavy goods.

Steve and Bucky stayed as long as they could to help and organize the haul, but eventually, they did have to go home.

* * *

It was warm in Steve’s living room. He’d made sure to crank up the heat.  Bucky was settled under a blanket on Steve’s sagging velour sofa. The TV was on but Bucky’s eyes were unfocused, his mind elsewhere. Steve carried their cocoa over to him and set the small tray on the coffee table. Bucky eyed the plate of shortbread cookies that came with. 

“Have at ‘em,” Steve murmured. He began tidying up, collecting stray books and police management manuals left lying around. Steve had learned that the best way for him to get time to read was to _make_ time to read, so he was always catching up on training and the latest crime thriller while watching TV, while cooking.  He’d been spending so much time at Bucky’s place that it wasn’t uncommon for Steve’s house to look a little more messy, a little like Steve habitually rushed out the door in his haste to see his favourite person, leaving chaos in his wake.

He finally settled down beside Bucky, who lifted the blanket to let him under.

“How’re the cookies?” he asked.

“Mrr,” Bucky said around a mouthful.  Steve smiled and snagged one for himself. The Grinch was on TV. 

Steve snuggled into Bucky’s side, loving the solid feel of him. Sometimes Steve wished he was smaller, more compact so he could really wrap all of Bucky around him and feel held, like something soft, a bird maybe.

Bucky wasn’t watching the TV.  He was staring at Steve’s flopping old Christmas tree.

“That was your ma’s, wasn’t it?” he murmured.

“Huh?” Steve perked up.

“The tree, it looks kinda old.”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve setttled back down against Bucky. The tree was positioned by the bay window so it could be seen from the street. “That’s my ma’s. It’s shitty and plastic and lost a few branches through all the moving, but yeah, it was hers. I remember when she brought it home.”

Bucky rested his cheek against the top of Steve’s head. “You carried it all over the place?”

“Yup,” Steve said. “Couldn’t afford a real one every year. That’s for rich folks.”

“Hmm,” Bucky hummed, the sound buzzing through Steve’s skull. “It’s something.”

They were silent as the Grinch plotted his vengeance against the people of Whoville.

“Your place is so different to mine,” Bucky said.

“Huh? What do you mean?” Steve said, eyes still on the TV.

“I mean,” Bucky shifted. He waved a hand about. “It’s warm and cozy. It looks like your home, it _feels_ like your home. My place ain’t like that.”

“Well, yours is all refinished and clean and not falling apart,” Steve snorted. “This house is old and crunk.”

Bucky sighed, chest rising and falling under Steve. 

Steve sat up. “What’s on your mind, Buck?”

Bucky’s face was warm, lit up by the tree lights. He seemed concerned.  “I want to know why my home doesn’t… doesn’t feel like home. It used to.”

Steve’s mouth twisted to the side.  The Barnes house was a monument to the neighbourhood. It had been around forever. Steve understood the value of that home, knew it would sell for a pretty penny if Bucky ever thought to do so, which he didn’t. It was old-bones Brooklyn. It was _amazing_. What on earth was Bucky talking about?

“You know what someone told me, back in Washington?” Steve murmured after a moment. “When I moved apartments my first couple years there, I kinda felt the same. Every apartment I lived in, no matter how much I painted and furnished, it never quite felt like _mine_ , you know?”

Bucky turned to look at him.

“And this girl, I mean _woman_ , this sergeant I worked with. She used to come over once in a while and she explained what it was." Steve thought back on all the old apartments he'd left behind. He looked at Bucky and smiled. "Rugs and pictures.”

Bucky frowned. “That sounds like a euphemism. Was this one of your ‘lady friends’?”

Steve laughed, “No, listen. She said it’s rugs on the floor to dampen the sound and make it soft for bare feet. And it’s pictures, posters, shelves, whatever, on the walls that make it a home. Even if you live alone. I swear, Buck, she was right.”

Bucky watched him, then his eyes flicked away, over the walls and bookcases crammed into Steve’s living room.  Steve had ton of framed pictures of all kinds on the wall. There was a great set of him and his mother, back when he was a teenager and she wasn’t sick yet, down at Coney Island. Their smiling faces looked at the camera, lit by sunlight and happiness.  There were photos of Steve and his co-workers, his friends. Sam, Danny, Karen, even cops from Washington, previous partners he’d worked the beat with.

There was a group photo from two years ago, in Nat’s yard, after they’d celebrated Halloween. Everyone was dressed up and making faces at the camera. Steve had that one printed and framed within a week because it was one of the few pictures he had of him and Bucky together - the devil horns and vampire fangs notwithstanding.

Steve had draped tinsel and paper snowflakes over his shelves and bookcase, making sure anyone who entered knew it was _that_ time of year. A few of the frames glimmered in the lights.  It’s not like Steve was particularly religious, nor did the Christmas spirit do much for him, but he liked the way it all came together to light up the place. It was a yearly splurge of colour and ambiance that he couldn’t really get away with the rest of the year.

Bucky blinked slowly, taking it all in.

“I think you’re right,” he murmured softly. “Something’s been missing.”

Steve smiled, “Maybe it’s time to brighten your place up with some tacky shit, Buck. Let's go down to the dollar store and pick up some posters.”

Bucky smiled and looked at him. He looped his arm around Steve and leaned in.  Bucky’s kisses were always so amazing, especially when they were unprompted and gentle, like this.  “You wanna move in with me?” Bucky said so low into Steve’s mouth that Steve thought he’d misheard.

He pulled back. “What?”

Bucky stared at him.  “Do you want to move in with me?" he repeated slower. "My place? Or-or–” he fumbled for a moment, unsure. “Here? I know this is your house you saved up for and all, and my place is kinda old and shitty, but if you–”

Steve launched himself at Bucky and kissed him for all he was worth.  “You fucking idiot,” Steve grumbled into Bucky’s mouth. “Of course I want to live with you. Holy hell, yes.”

His heart soared.  Bucky kissed back awkwardly, trying to keep pace with Steve’s pecks and nibbles.

Steve pulled back and looked Bucky in the eye.  “Your place,” he said firmly. “That’s your family home and I don’t see why you’d ever give it up, not for nothing.”

“But–”

“No,” Steve said firmly. “I want you to keep your mother’s house, keep the memories, build up some more. You got me now, I can help.”

Bucky’s face went all soft and he smiled wanly.  “I figured you’d be the thing that the house needs most, so it’s not just me rattling around inside it forever. Boo Radley-mode, as America says.”

Steve pressed a gentle kiss to Bucky’s lips and smiled.

* * *

It was a late start on Christmas day, but they didn’t have anywhere to be.

“Snow’s coming down again,” Bucky said.

“It is?” Steve didn’t move from his comfy spot under the bed covers.

“Started around midnight and been steadily falling,” Bucky went on. Steve could feel fingers in his hair.  He didn’t press Bucky for obviously having been awake most of the night. He had anticipated it, even. Steve cranked his eyes open. The bright morning light lit up his bedroom. 

“It’s gonna be hip-high by noon,” Bucky said and then pressed his lips to Steve’s ear, right under his lobe where he knew it made Steve’s spine shiver.

“Hmf,” Steve harrumphed and twisted to push his face at Bucky’s. He felt so warm, so comfortable, he wondered if they could stay in bed all day, screw the holidays.

Bucky kissed him, laughing through it.  Steve’s wandering fingers scratched at Bucky’s bare chest. He was still strong and big and everything Steve dreamed of having.  When their kiss turned wet and languorous, Steve rolled onto his back, pulling Bucky over and onto him, his heavy weight pinning Steve to the sheets.

“Mm,” Bucky hummed and shifted. Steve felt Bucky’s heavy underwear-clad cock pressing between his thighs and he shuddered. Bucky’s hips kept shifting and moving about, trying to get purchase.  Steve’s own cock was already at attention, as it was most mornings when Bucky slept over.  If they moved in together, Steve would get to have this all the time. His blood buzzed at the thought, at having Bucky to come home to, Bucky to wake up to.

“Whoa cowboy,” Bucky laughed when Steve shoved Bucky’s underwear down over his ass. 

Steve scratched his fingernails over the curve of Bucky’s butt and Bucky shivered. Steve had only recently realized that Bucky had a bit of a thing for scratches. 

“Why on earth should I slow down?” Steve nipped at Bucky’s chin. “Is this _not_ my Christmas present? Wasn’t that my gift last year?”

Bucky laughed, “You really think I’d give you the same gift every year, Steve?”

“I got you a gift,” Steve smirked and shifted his hips up to meet Bucky’s bulge.

“So I see,” Bucky said, getting up on his elbows so he could stare down at Steve.

“Actually, I got you one of those skimpy cop stripper uniforms,” Steve grinned. “For me, though. You know the sort? Thin fabric, cropped blue shirt and tight pants with a belt and baton? It’s even got a little sheriff’s badge and hat.”

Bucky’s eyes widened _just_ a little and Steve laughed.  Bucky was turning pink.  “Fuck you,” he said gruffly and pushed up onto his hands. “That’s not fair. You know it ain’t.”

Steve chuckled some more and rubbed his palms over Bucky’s thick, strong belly.“One day, Barnes, I’m gonna dress up in some kind of uniform and we’re gonna fuck that kink right out of you.”

“You’re a real bastard, Steve,” Bucky groused, but leaned in to kiss him anyway.

* * *

Steve was checking the potatoes when Bucky’s phone jangled loudly.

“What the hell is that sound?” Bucky said from somewhere in the house.

“Your phone,” Steve answered loudly. He finished flipping the potatoes and slid the pan back into the oven.  The turkey was cooling on the counter, under a towel, and they had about twenty more minutes until the vegetables were done. He and Bucky had already argued about the bird.

“That is _not_ a turkey,” Bucky had insisted when Steve showed him the defrosted fowl.

“It is!” Steve had insisted. “It’s just a small guy, sheesh. We ain’t feeding the five thousand over here.”

“ _That_ ,” Bucky had pointed at it, “Is a chicken, pal. You got swindled.”

“I did not!”

Having Bucky’s house all to themselves on the holiday was strange but newly fun for them both.  Sam had already been round, bringing his usual bottle of Kahlua and cards from the Wilson clan.  Nat and Clint had messaged, clarifying the details for the New Year party and wishing the two of them merry days.  Nat kept using the eggplant emoji which _still_ had Steve all flustered and annoyed by her depravity.Was nothing sacred? Not even the holidays?

He shut the oven and listened.  Bucky was talking.  Then he appeared in the kitchen doorway.

_America,_ he mouthed at Steve.

_Ah._ Steve nodded. It was the first time in a long time that they hadn’t seen America and her gaggle of goons around town for the holidays.  “Okay, all right, hold on,” Bucky was saying and he scowled at his phone. “How do you put this thing on speaker?”

He directed the question to Steve but the sound of America squawking in response wasn’t missed by either of them.

“Here, tap that–there,” Steve said.

America’s voice blared into the kitchen. “–still an old man, huh?” she was saying.

“Hey, watch your mouth,” Bucky grunted and placed the cellphone on the counter.

“Is Steve there?” She said loudly, ignoring Bucky.

“Hi,” Steve said. 

“Hi, Steve!” she cried happily. “Well, did he ask you yet?”

Bucky exhaled loudly, “America, stop butting your nose in–”

“To move in with him?” Steve grinned. “Yeah, buddy, he did.”

“Ayyye!” America squealed. “About _time!”_

Steve gave Bucky a _look_ that said a lot about Bucky’s plan to tell Steve, and how he must have been thinking about it for a whole long while if he’d already conferred with the teen squad.  Bucky ignored Steve, but his ears were a little pink.

Steve asked America a whole bunch of questions, how was Chicago, what was the weather like, did she get a lot of presents, bust any chops lately. Stuff like that.

America babbled on as only she could.  “I got a little stressed a few days back thinking about the LSATs and all of that stuff,” she said, “But then I wrote a twenty-five page comparative essay for my Poli-Sci class based on the systemic elimination of female and POC candidate application documentation across all fifty states in the thirties just to spite this dude-bro in that class, so I think I’ll be okay.”

Steve chuckled.  Bucky had that puffed up look to his chest and those shining eyes he got whenever America proved the world wrong about her abilities.

Steve’s smile softened.  Bucky wasn’t talking about it, but he missed having the kids around this time of year. Seems they’d become a fixture pretty early on once he’d returned from the army. Steve wasn’t sure on the details but it had something to do with catching a girl setting fire to a tire yard or something, then convincing her and her friends to make better comeback strategies for the evil bastards plaguing their lives. Strategies that didn’t get them _caught._

So Bucky was probably sad to not have a big meal over at Natasha’s this year.

Bucky, Steve and America chatted on for another minute before she had to pause. It sounded like she was covering the mouthpiece and talking to someone “Where are you, kid?” Bucky frowned. Wherever she was, there was some wind.

“What?” America came back on the line. “Sorry, guys. I gotta go. We made it to our destination.”

“All right,” Steve sighed. “Well, you have fun out there.”

“Merry happy Chrismukkah! Cheery non-denominational joy to y'all!” America cried. “We love you guys!”

Bucky’s face went all soft. “Yeah, same.”

Steve hung up the phone and watched Bucky putter around the kitchen for a moment, not really doing anything.  He opened his mouth to say something when there was a sharp rapping on the front door followed by more aggressive knocks and thuds.

Bucky went on alert immediately. He hated having people at the door.  “Who’d you invite over?” he said.

Steve frowned, “Nobody.”

“I swear to God,” Bucky griped and stomped out of the kitchen. “If it’s those Goddamn carolers, I’m gonna commit a merry Christmas fuckin’ crime.”

Steve followed Bucky out into the foyer, just in case.  Bucky threw open the door, the blinding sunlight bouncing off the snow making them both blink.

“Surprise!” 

Steve blinked again.

“America?” he gasped out.

And there she stood, with Kate Bishop, Billy Kaplan and Teddy Altman right behind her, laden with bags and presents. All four of them were bundled up in scarfs and hats, and the deep trench dug through the front lawn showed how hard they must have worked to get from the front gate and up to the porch in one piece.

“What the-” Bucky exhaled.

“Merry Christmas! We lied!” Kate said happily. 

The four kids came tumbling into the house, shedding their gear and gifts as they went.

“Did you know about this?” Bucky asked Steve.

“Uh,” Steve blinked around at the chaos. “Nope.”

“We’re not staying the whole day,” Kate continued, kicking off her big wet boots. “But we wanted to bring your presents. Teddy’s dad’s got our food and stuff."

“But–” Bucky said, confused, “How’d you get here?”

“We flew,” America piped up, freeing her mane of curls from her hat. It exploded into a massive halo around her head. “Saved up those Starbucks mochas for such an occasion.”

“My dad picked me and Billy up,” Teddy said. “Drove through the snow for almost a day.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Billy muttered, tugging at his snow-speckled scarf.

“But we made it!” Kate hugged Bucky, then Steve.

“I don’t understand,” Bucky was clearly confused.

“Just never mind,” America hugged him tight.

The kids rolled their way through Bucky’s house, scattering presents and cards all over the place. They were loud and boisterous and Steve could tell that it was making Bucky incrementally happier by the second to see them all safe and sound.  Both Billy and Teddy had grown some more, filling out their frames with muscle. Teddy was going to make one helluva firefighter, Steve was sure of it.

“So it seems taking liberal arts courses was a waste of time,” Kate was saying. She picked over the M&Ms Steve had put out in a bowl. The kitchen felt snug with so many people crammed in there. “So I joined the business futures program and yeah,” Kate snorted loudly, “I might amend my direction, head into business administration. Learn some money shit. God knows we might need it.”

“I don’t do math,” America said sharply, peeking under the towel on the counter. “Oh my _God_ , are you guys eating _chicken_ for dinner? That’s so fuckin’ _sad!”_

“That is _not_ a chicken!” Steve barked.

The kids swarmed around the bird and cackled loudly, making all manner of crude comments about Steve’s fowl-selection process.

Bucky nudged him with his elbow and Steve glanced over at him.

“Shoulda got a real turkey, pal,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Why buy one when I live with one?” Steve retorted and received a good shove for his impertinence.

* * *

Later that evening, the house had quietened down and Steve was cleaning up the kitchen.  Bucky had disappeared into the dark house, leaving Steve to collect up the array of glasses and dishes left over by the kids.  He was pondering the timing of them all coming home on Christmas Day. Bucky had been thrown by it, genuinely surprised. It wasn’t just because the kids were meant to be out-of-state, but it was because they shouldn’t have been able to afford it.

They talked about it after the silence had settled on the house.

“Kate’s got a stranglehold on their money,” Bucky had murmured. “They’re budgeted down to the dime, Steve. I hope they didn’t do something stupid and buy tickets on credit.”

“Well, Kate said she’s working on America’s second scholarship. Maybe they borrowed some from that?”

Bucky hadn’t seemed convinced, and Steve had to agree.

He wiped his hands and went in search of his phone. He tapped through his contacts list and typed out a simple message.

> _ 05:35 PM _
> 
> _ Did you pay to get the kids home? _

He waited for a response.

Nothing. So he put his phone in his pocket and went to find Bucky.  Bucky was coming up the stairs with something in his hands.

Steve stopped. “Is that–” he hesitated.

Bucky looked up and came to a stop in front of Steve. “Yeah.” He brushed his hand over the flower-patterned box. “I–I wanted to… I dunno… “

Steve watched Bucky chew his lip, unsure of what to say.  “You wanna put up some pictures?” Steve said softly. He recalled finding some old frames in the garage. Maybe they could be salvaged.

Bucky inhaled slowly and pressed the box to his chest.

“I think so,” he looked up at Steve. And there he stood, the biggest, toughest guy on the block, head bent low to the world around him just so he could get through. There was Bucky, the angry but gentle man who had stolen young Steve Rogers’ heart all those years ago. He held in his arms the memories of a family, of people who were important to him. He stood in their home with those memories and for the first time in a long time he wanted to acknowledge them. He wanted to look back at them and _really_ remember.

Steve couldn’t be happier.

“That’s a great idea, Buck,” he said and leaned in to kiss Bucky. “A really, really great idea.”

—

> _ 01:04 AM - Natasha R. _
> 
> _ Shhh. My gift to you both.  _

—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little (slightly sad) snippet of the boys. Happy Chrismukkah to all and to all a good night!


End file.
